


Full Stops and Exclamation Points

by Ladysarah



Series: Live Fast, Die Young [2]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, darcy has a secret, fight me, people get bored and like to place bets, someone gets handsy, why can't I stop?, why do insist in calling non-magical or undercover Thor Don?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-02
Updated: 2015-07-02
Packaged: 2018-04-07 06:52:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,393
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4253619
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ladysarah/pseuds/Ladysarah
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The dusty air around them, filtering through the warm sun, creates a halo around Steve’s head. His sunglasses are slipping down his nose and his hands are on his hips as he listens to what Bucky is telling him. He hasn’t changed, physically, since their first trip to the outskirts of the city. He is still a solid form of muscle and gold and deep eyes. But he looks different somehow and her fingers itch to reach out and touch him. She turns and walks away instead.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Full Stops and Exclamation Points

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Britt1975](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Britt1975/gifts), [Merideath](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Merideath/gifts).



> Firstly, I apologize for this second part taking TWO YEARS. It's been a tough two years for me and Linda. After I gave her more power for helping me to write the first part she became unbearable and has now been fridged. Every once in a while I open the fridge and look at her and think of all the good times we had. Then I remember what a diva she is and close the door with glee. 
> 
> Secondly, this story is gifted to Meri and Britt. Your love for this story is part of the reason I never stopped. Thank you for loving this story as much as I do. 
> 
> Thirdly, to everyone I foisted this story on in any of it's incarnations, thank you. After two years I have forgetten just how many people I have showed this to, but each person supported me and beta'ed in some way.
> 
> Fourthly, I mention, briefly, an Islamic festival, so if I have misrepresented it in any way, please let me know. I did so unknowingly. I really did try to do my research.
> 
> And finally, the title comes from In For The Kill by La Roux, but the soundtrack and mood was supplied by this:
> 
>  _That little kiss you stole_  
>  It held my heart and soul  
> And like a deer in the headlights I meet my fate  
> \--Deathbeds by Bring Me The Horizon

There’s a crack in her ceiling. The crack starts, or maybe ends, above where her head is resting comfortably on her pillow. It runs down towards her feet a little ways before taking a diagonal turn across the room and righting itself once again to escape out her open window where the last vestiges of the nights jasmine fragrance blows in on the wind, making her curtains dance. The paint at the edge of the crack is starting to peel, and in the late morning sun ghosting into her room she thinks she can make out the shadowy silhouette of Elvis. These shapes always end up looking like Elvis.

It’s been three weeks.

Three weeks of open smiles and hushed jokes and touches that, no matter how innocent, fly across her skin and down her spine, their fiery path seared into her memory. Three weeks of seeking each other out for conversation. Three weeks of him escorting her to back country roads because the security level hasn’t changed and he won’t let her go by herself. Three weeks of explaining to their nosey coworkers and friends that, yes, they talk now, and sure, they’re friends.

But she doesn’t feel like they’re friends. Or, at least, she doesn’t feel like they’re just friends.

The thought has been running through her mind so much it’s become background noise. Sometime over the last couple weeks it’s become easier to stare at the Elvises in her ceiling than trying to drown the thought. But then again, she’s starting to think she doesn’t want it drowned out. That maybe she wants it to grow and take on a life of its own. If it has a life of its own, then it’s real. And if it’s real….

The sharp rapping at her door snaps her back to the bleary present, away from shadowy cracks and burning touches. The knocking turns arrogant, if a knock can do such a thing, and Darcy groggily makes her way towards the door.

“I’m coming.” She swings open her door and comes face to face with Bucky and his obnoxious smile.

“That’s what she said.”

“What do you want, Barnes?” Darcy leans against the door frame, letting her cheek rest against the hardwood as she watches him look her up and down quickly. If she weren’t so tired she would probably care more.

“Someone dropped off a package at the front gate for you.” His eyes find her face again as he starts backing down the hallway. “Hawkeye cleared it. Just need you to sign it in. Might wanna change before you go down, though.”

Darcy looks down at herself, seeing only bare leg from the thigh down and tugs her shirt a little halfheartedly. “God, Bucky, why didn’t you tell me when I opened the door?”

Bucky is almost to the end of the hall when he fires back. “What, and miss seeing those legs?”

“Bastard.” Darcy groans and halfheartedly gives him the finger. His laughter follows him down the stairs.

She’s not awake enough to care about her appearance so she settles for clean glasses, chap-stick, and clothes that don’t have any spots on them. She stuffs a piece of gum in her mouth for good measure. The sun is out in full force and Darcy squints her eyes, hand raised to block out the sun as she steps out of the bunkhouse and makes her way towards the gate, walking under the spartan shade of the palms along the way.

The stretch of land between the two main buildings, what had once been a barren brown if the pictures she’s seen around are anything to go by, resembles an oasis complete with Palm trees and some sort of fern that is almost as tall as she is. Up the side of the bunkhouse climbs the jasmine plant that perfumes her room at night. It has seen better days, but despite that, or maybe because of it, the plant clings to the stuccoed side with fervor. She closes her eyes and breathes deeply, pulling the Jasmine’s lingering scent into her lungs. It helps to wake her up a little.

She can hear the faint trace of raised voices and turns to look at the garage and the two figures coming out the side door. Bucky is waving his hands around in a wild attempt to communicate what he is saying to Steve as he follows him out the door. Steve turns and mumbles something, causing his friend to bark out a laugh that echoes off of every flat surface it reaches.

The dusty air around them, filtering through the warm sun, creates a halo around Steve’s head. His sunglasses are slipping down his nose and his hands are on his hips as he listens to what Bucky is telling him. He hasn’t changed, physically, since their first trip to the outskirts of the city. He is still a solid form of muscle and gold and deep eyes. But he looks different somehow and her fingers itch to reach out and touch him. She turns and walks away instead.

Clint is lounging in his seat in the gatehouse, bottled water dangling from his fingers and Mascot under his legs and panting in the early morning heat with eyes trained on several large styrofoam containers nearby. The sound of her graveled footsteps gives away her position and Mascot comes trotting her way, tongue hanging out in happiness.

“Hey boy. How ya doin’, Mascot?” Her fingers sink into his tawny fur, over his ears, before scratching at his black snout. He nuzzles her leg firmly for several moments before trotting off to give the packages a closer inspection. “Barnes said a delivery came for me?”

Clint nods, barely. His feet are up and his head is back. He looks more like he fell asleep watching television and less like the second line of defense on their measly plot of American soil.

“Girl about your age dropped it off. Said it was a present from her family for Ed all-A-duh.”

Darcy looks at him in confusion. Ed all-A-duh…“You mean Eid al-Adha?”

He snaps his fingers and points at her, not bothering to look her way. “Yep. That’s the one.”

“How is it that you have been in the Middle East for as long as you have and you still haven’t learned Arabic? Or any other language?” Mascot is licking at one of the packages, long tongue scratching against the smooth surface, and Darcy steps in the pull the dog away.

“The same way I was in China and Honduras and Canada—”

“Canada?”

Clint finally moves, his head raising as his hand lifts his glasses just enough to make eye contact. “They speak a lot of French,” he monotones before settling back into his chair, glasses back in place. “If I had to learn the language each time I took a job somewhere new, I wouldn’t have time to work. I just take Nat with me if I need to leave the nest.”

Darcy hums in partial understanding and runs her fingers over the cool styrofoam container closest to her. “What’s in the boxes? Did she tell you?”

“There’s a card.” Clint sits up, pouring half of his water bottle into Mascot’s dish, the cascading water calling to the dog like a siren's song. “She said something about giving us one of their thirds.”

Her curiosity is piqued and she raises the lid of the box in front of her and stops. She chuckles. Then laughs. Clint comes up beside her.

“Is that beef?” He squints in confusion. It’s not every day someone is gifted what looks to be over a hundred pounds of raw meat in varying cuts.

“Yes. Yes it is.”

“I don’t think it’s all going to fit in the freezer.”

“No, it won’t. What are you thinking?” A smile breaks over Clint’s face as he pulls his radio from his belt.

“Alright team, who want’s a barbecue?”

 

Tony seems to be the most excited about the barbecue out of everyone.

“I'll take care of the alcohol,” he announces loudly and Darcy, from her seat at her desk in her room above the patio, pictures him with arms raised in the air like a champion who has come to claim a prize. “I have been stockpiling for this moment.”

Natasha, who sounds like she is laying in the hammock at the edge of the patio, scoffs. “Why am I not surprised?”

Tony spends the next hour pretending to be offended. Loudly.

Don slips into the role of official barbecue cook, with the help of Bruce, causing a ruckus in the communal kitchen while looking for ingredients to make his family’s signature sauces and staples.

“My family has had many gatherings centered on food. We know how to cook well.” He may have been raised in Europe, the son of a prominent diplomat, but the sheer amount of food that he scrubs together and the number of southern staples she sees when she sticks her head out the window tells of large family gatherings in the Deep South. She makes a mental note to ask him about it sometime.

She spends the afternoon taking a cool shower, listening in on conversations happening on the patio, and catching up on the backlog of emails from her father, assuring him that she is not dead and is, in fact, completely safe within the walls of the Consulate.

The sun is already setting when the smell of cooking meat blows in through her window. The clanging in the kitchen has disappeared and someone has plugged their iPod into some speakers. The soft sounds of some 90’s band that practically everyone has forgotten about plays while she changes out of her robe. The afternoon’s heavy heat is still on her mind as she digs a pair of shorts out of the back of the bottom drawer, pulling a large long sleeve plaid shirt that was, no doubt, left by the last group of old man scientists who had been stationed here, over her tank top. Darcy slips on her sandals and slowly makes her way down the stairs and out the door to the patio.

The feel of artificial conditioned air is replaced by the warm caress of the breeze flowing between the buildings. A small wave of homesickness washes over her as she takes in the transformation that has taken place.

Someone has found a stash of pink flamingo party lights and the Consulates supply of Christmas lights, criss-crossing them over the patio and through the greenery surrounding them. Several tables have been moved and put end to end outside, surrounded by the mix of chairs that usually litter the bunkhouse.

Don is standing near the grill with Jane, one hand tending to the cooking meat and one arm wrapped around her as they gently sway to the music. Tony and Bruce and Erik stand in the corner by a table full of every alcohol under the sun, each with a drink in hand as they mumble at each other in excited tones. Out on the grass Bucky and Clint are throwing a frisbee back and forth, Mascot barking and running between them in a game of pickle that doesn’t seem to end. And beyond them, sitting on a bench next to Natasha, is Steve. She can feel her mouth going dry.

His smile stretches from ear to ear as he takes in the spectacle in front of him, soft lines appearing around his eyes. She tears her eyes away from him and skirts around the science geekery the older men are giggling about to grab herself a beer before stepping off the patio and onto grass.

She is halfway to where they’re sitting when Steve’s eyes land on her and his whole body stills, beer slowly lowering from his lips. His gaze ghosts over her form before meeting her eyes and a shiver runs through her body, raising goosebumps along her arms and making her instantly thankful for the padding of her bra.

Somewhere in the background  she can hear the sound of Bucky’s voice calling out to someone and Steve winces slightly, breaking their gaze and looking down before his eyes raise up again to meet hers, a small one sided smile covering his face and an eyebrow raised. He stands as she reaches them.

“Hey.” His voice is smooth and warm and welcoming. Three weeks and it still feels strange to see him smile openly around her. It sends her heart beating and her breath sticking in her lungs. It reminds her so much of drifting.

“Hi.” She tries acting like he hasn’t affected her, but she can feel her heart speed up and her smile stretching a little wider than normal.

“Listen up,” Bucky shouts from where he stands, mascot tugging at the frisbee in his hand with a  growl and some playful jumping around. Conversations dim and all heads turn in his direction. “It appears that Darcy has found the Shirt-Which-Should-Not-Be-Worn. Nat, who had eight months on Operation: What Not To Wear?”

Natasha slips a little black book from her pocket and thumbs through the pages. “Pool goes to Banner.”

There is a brief moment of silence before Bruce gives up a shout, raising his beer. “I never win anything.” His laughter carries over Tony’s loud but playful protestations as everyone else gives an obligatory clap for his apparent win before turning back to their conversations.

“So where’d you find the shirt, Lewis?” Natasha is scooting over on the bench, opening up a place for her to sit until dinner is ready.

“Pulled out the bottom drawer from my dresser and there it was.” Darcy settled onto the bench, watching Steve out of the corner of her eye as he takes another pull off his beer. “Thought it got left behind by some old guy who had the room before me.”

Bits of  beer spray out of Steve’s mouth as he coughs. Natasha gives an amused smile and raises an eyebrow.

“It wasn’t that bad.” The sour look that covers Steve’s face has Darcy smiling through her confusion.

Bucky creeps up behind Steve and slaps a hand down on his shoulder. “Yes it was, Steve. That’s why we hid it. We couldn’t let you go into another video conference with that thing on.”

“This is your shirt?” It’s more of a statement than a question as the pieces start to come together. Darcy stands, tugging the shirt off her shoulders. “You can have it back.”

Steve moves quickly into her space, tugging the shirt back up her arms, thumb brushing her skin briefly. “No. You keep it. Looks better on you anyway.”

“That’s because it makes Rogers here look geriatric.” Bucky squeezes in and takes the vacated seat next to Nat, eyebrows wiggling in a suggestive manner. “And because you’re curvy and brunette, which is always sure to get a reaction from the good Captain here.” Steve’s hand swings forward, heavily knocking Bucky upside the head and earning a bark of laughter from Nat.

“Sorry, hand got away from me,” he deadpans. Bucky stands and tackles Steve around his middle, knocking some air out of his lungs as they stumble towards the patio, wrestling each other to the ground.

“The meat is ready!” Don’s loud proclamation has everyone gathering around the table to take their seats. Steve and Bucky pull themselves up from the grass, straightening their clothes and sloughing off anything that clings.

“Punk.”

“Jerk.”

Darcy seats herself next to Jane and smiles when Steve takes the seat on her other side, inching his chair a few inches closer to hers and sending her a warm smirk as he settles in. The evening is turning tepid and the heat wafting off of him warms her side. Don insists on a quick prayer before eating and as soon as “Amen” leaves his mouth bowls and plates are being passed around and the din of chatter fills the air.

Steve stretches an arm in front of her to pick up a dish, so close she can smell him. His natural scent is warm and calming and fills her with butterflies the size of softballs. She wishes she could nuzzle her nose up against his neck and take a large sniff like she does with the jasmine that climbs to her room. She holds down her impulse as he sits back, but just barely. Conversation pulls their attention in different directions but he is so present she can’t keep her mind off him for more than a moment. It’s a struggle to make sure that no one notices. She's doing a great job until his hand brushes against the outside of her naked thigh

It catches her so off guard that she startles in her seat and she takes a moment to see if anyone has noticed. No one asks about her red cheeks or jerky movement. No conversations have stopped. She turns her head just enough that she can see Steve’s face and finds he is busy chatting with Clint and Bruce across the table. Convinced that it must have been an accidental and innocent bump, she distracts herself by listening to the conversation that Jane is having with Tony about the science of new green energies, but quickly loses interest.

The white noise of thought about what she and Steve are to each other comes floating back. The warm looks he had given her as she moved towards him earlier. The brief touch of skin on skin as he pulled his shirt back over her shoulders. Three weeks ago they weren’t even speaking, much less touching. Now she craves and cherishes every touch and word.

She is pulled from her thoughts by another touch on her leg. This time the fingertips drag over her skin at a painstakingly slow pace, drawing small patterns before coming to a stop on her inner thigh, near her knee. She glances at Steve and sees that he is still deep in discussion with the others. His face never betraying that he knows what his hand is doing. His thumb rubs circles into her leg, calluses rough and sending sparks skittering across her skin.

After several moments his hand starts to pull away. She doesn’t quite understand what is going on between them, doesn’t understand how quickly things are changing, but it’s a loss she isn’t ready for. She crosses her legs, trapping his hand between them, and she can see his smile widen slightly at the action. They carry on that way, his thumb rubbing circles into her skin every couple of minutes.

Dinner is starting to wind down when Tony asks to use Steve’s poker set. He gives her leg a quick squeeze and smiles before reluctantly disappearing into the bunk house with the mechanic. Minutes later Tony walks out with the poker set, complete with green visor, and without Steve. She excuses herself from the game and makes her way back into the bunkhouse.

As she reaches the top of the stairs she can hear music coming from the open door at the end of the hall. Steve’s room. She wants to go to him. Talk to him. Maybe see where things go. For a moment old Darcy, safe Darcy, rises up to try to stop her, creating a long list of reasons why trying to become closer to Steve could only end in misery. She closes her eyes and the memory of the wind beating against her chest washes over her. Old Darcy, boring Darcy, would have never started talking to Adara that day in the street. She never would have made the friends she has made or ridden in the car with Lufti. That Darcy never lived. Never wanted someone so badly. She forces Old Darcy out of her mind, calming down with each step she takes down the hall.

Reaching the open doorway she takes a moment to observe Steve in his natural habitat. He is spread out on his bed, legs hanging off the end, beer in one hand and eyes closed. The music turns out to be some soft, bluesy trumpet that floats through the room, piano playing in the background.

“They gave you a bigger bed than they gave me.” Steve sits up on his bed and turns to take her in. His gaze, just as strong as it was on the patio, settles on her.

“That’s ‘cause they love me more.”She is pretty sure that isn’t the reason, and tells him so as she steps into the room. She breaks his heady gaze and looks at his walls, covered in frameless sketches and paintings of people and landmarks all over the world. Scattered along his bookshelves and dresser and side tables are odd little knick-knacks and photographs.

In a particularly dingy gold frame is a picture of a younger Steve and Bucky with a beautiful brunette between them. The woman is smiling widely, full lips stretched over white teeth, cheeks flushed as Bucky makes a ridiculous face next to her. They are in a bar, the beer taps peeking out from behind the trio, and as Steve looks at the woman next to him he looks happier than she has ever seen him. She turns away from the picture quickly and picks up the closest thing she can get her hands on.

“A snow globe? Of Greece? Really?” She turns just enough that he can see her raised eyebrow. He chuckles.

“We were working a job in Athens during the coldest winter they had on record. They had five inches of snow and just about everything shut down for days. The snow globe seemed fitting.”

She picks up a small battered pan flute. “And this?”

“Chile. A very welcoming family tried to teach me to play it. I was horrible.” A soft smile covers his face. Darcy picks up the thumb drive modeled after a babushka doll and waves it at him, the question unspoken.

“We were in an airport in Russia when my computer started to go haywire. It had all my reports on it. Tony told me to buy a thumb drive and save my stuff so he could work on it while we waited for our flight. That was the only one I could find that had enough storage for everything I needed. He laughed about it for days.”

Darcy replaces the thumb drive and takes in the artwork on his wall.

“Where did you find these?” She sticks a hand out to lightly touch one, a watercolor of a building with Moroccan detail work, and she can hear the shifting of the bed as Steve stands and walks towards her.

“Here and there. I sketch on my days off.”

“You did these?” She pivots in place, bumping into him as she turns, he is so close. Her head barely reaches his chin and she (finally) gets a lungful of his scent. Her eyes settle on the collar of his shirt and a fleck of dirt that has come along for the ride. The white noise grows louder and the unassuming speck gives her something to focus on. She tentatively reaches up a hand and starts rubbing at it with her thumb.

“You’ve just got a little bit of dirt….” His hand covers hers and stops her movements.

“Darcy, I wanna kiss you.” His other hand cups her cheek forcing her to tilt her head to look him in the eye. She doesn’t know what he sees written across her face, but it propels him forward.

His lips, soft and warm, move over hers reverently, then firmly, teasing her into asking for more. As she moves closer to him, as she pulls her hand away from his to join the other that has wound itself around the back of his neck, she feels the familiar sensation of her heart speeding up and the pressure in her chest, but this time there isn’t a rush of wind or a roar in her ears, just the steady assurance that this is, inexplicably, perfection. All she can think is finally.

His arms wrap around her waist, pulling her closer to his hard chest. The memory of being molded tightly against him the day he first accompanied her to the stretch of tar outside the city rushes over her and she gasps. He latches onto her bottom lip, gives a bite, a gentle tug, before his kiss becomes gentle again. Darcy hums from the feeling as his arms around her waist pull her closer still. He gives a light tug on her hips and they start moving backward towards the bed, their legs bumping into each other as they try to walk. Steve breaks the kiss to sit down, eyes smoldering with want, and tucks his hands behind her knees, pulling her closer. Taking the hint, she climbs onto the bed with him, straddling him and settling herself into his arms and lap before catching his lips with hers.

To be honest, none of Darcy’s past boyfriends, such as they were, had ever had much time for leisurely kissing, always trying to rush to the finish line, and while Steve’s kisses are still slow, they are deep, dragging her into him with a desire no one else has ever made her feel. The change is thrilling and Darcy lets herself rest against Steve as their kissing intensifies. A low warmth spreading through her, creeping across each inch of skin before resting at her core.

She runs her tongue along the seam of his lips and he opens up to her. He tastes like beer and Don’s homemade coleslaw. His hands are on her hips, caressing and gripping them and she rocks into him without thinking. His hand slides away from her hip to grip her ass then slides up, under his shirt and her tank top, to rest on the naked skin of her back. She can feel the hairs along her arms raise at the touch and she arches into him, the heat spreading through her body like liquid fire.

Steve breaks the kiss again and before she can protest she feels his lips on her jaw. He moves slowly, covering every bit of skin he can. Her head falls back and to the side. His lips cover her jaw before starting down the column of her neck, leaving small bites mixed with open kisses, pushing the collar of his button up shirt to the side. He licks the hollow of her throat and nips at the taut muscles close by. It sends a ripple of pleasure running down her spine and her hips slide against his once more, all but grinding against him, ripping a groan from his mouth. Something in her breaks.

Her hands are everywhere, trying to grab enough of him to satisfy the need that is quickly building. Her fingers run through his hair and she tugs lightly as he moans into her neck. The sensation has her aching to scratch at something as he bites her shoulder. Her nails scrape over his scalp and in seconds she is on her back and pressed into his soft mattress.

He settles between her legs, the hand not between her and the bed coasting down her hip and onto the bare skin of her thigh, wrapping her leg around his hip as he kisses her chin and lips and neck. His name tumbles from her lips in a low sigh as she closes her eyes and tips back her head at the humming pleasure rushing through her. His free hand leaves her leg and trails up her side, beneath her tank top, coming to a rest just before he reaches her breasts. A whine escapes her lips as he rocks into her.

She brings his head in close to hers, letting her lips trail along his jaw before reclaiming his mouth, tangling her tongue with his. His thumb sneaks beneath the band of her bra and slowly each finger follows until her breast in fully in his grasp and the cup is riding up. His thumb and finger stroke over her nipple, drawing it to attention before massaging her breast and drawing a hum from her body.

Darcy arches her hips into his, trying to relieve the tension that is rolling through her body, and feeling his hardened bulge between them, she stills. Steve places several more kisses along her neck before she can feel him still as well, his breath hot against her ear as they both catch their breath.

“Sorry,” he says, lifting his face away from her neck. His face is flushed and his lips are swelling, but his eyes are still shadowed with the desire that had been flowing through their bodies moments before. “I got a little carried away.” His hand starts to pull away from her breast but she holds the hand in place with her own, liking the weight of his hand against her and the warmth of his skin.

“We got a little carried away.” Darcy lifts her head to give him a quick, chaste, kiss before running her other hand softly down the side of his face. “I wanted this. I want you. I just...I-I-”

“Hey, it’s okay. You wanna stop, we stop.” A small smile crosses his face and, God, she wants to be kissing him again, but- “I mean, I don’t know how long it’s been for you, but it’s been awhile for me and-.”

“I’m a virgin, Steve.” He stills for a moment and if she wasn’t paying better attention she probably would have missed it. The ever so slight hesitation. But she didn’t, and she worries about what he’ll do next. It wouldn’t be the first time the information of her still being in possession of her v-card has changed a relationship with a guy. Nice Guy finds out she’s a virgin and barely touches her, waiting for her to make all the moves, too afraid of pushing her to treat her like an adult. Or the Not-So-Nice Guy who turns it into a challenge. Like something to be claimed.

“Look,” she says, making sure he is looking her in the eye, her fingers lightly running up and down his cheek, “I’m not saving myself for marriage or waiting for Mr. Right. I’m not some innocent little thing that’s never given a blow job or jerked a guy off before-”

“Darcy-” he groans as he buries his head against her neck and a low laugh rumbles through his body and into her chest. “You’re killing me.”

“What I am trying to say is that I never wanted to. I  didn’t feel like it was worth all the effort and mess and awkwardness...until you.” She pauses as the weight of what she just said settles. It sounds like a big thing. It is a big thing. It holds weight. But at the same time it’s the most simple thing in the world.

His lips, resting against the skin of her neck, pucker and kiss at her firmly before he raises his head again. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” His smirk is good natured and then his lips are on hers. It doesn’t take long for the heat to flare up again, but it stays steady at a simmer, just enough to keep things passionate.  

She hears a shuffle and a cough and they pull away from each other to find Tony leaning against the still open door to Steve’s room.

“Oh, don’t mind me.” Tony smirks, arms crossed over his chest in amusement. “I was just checking to see if you wanted to be dealt into the game, but it appears that you’ve got your hands full. Well, just the one hand….”

Steve pulls away the hand that had been cupping her breast and uses it to grab a pillow from the head of his bed and throw it at the door as Tony makes a hasty escape.  Moments later they hear his voice filter up from the patio.

“Barnes, can you please teach your boy how to close a door. And Nat, who had the pool on Rogers and Lewis?”

There is a moment of mumbled words before they make out Bruce shouting in excitement, “Again? I really never win anything!”

 

**Author's Note:**

> I am [nourgelitnius](http://nourgelitnius.tumblr.com) on tumblr. Come say hi if you want to. Please leave a comment if you feel so inclined. They feed my soul and my extremely small ego.


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